


As Luck Would Have It

by TheLadyRebel



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Assassin's Creed III, Assassin's Creed Multiplayer, Death, Fillan McCarthy - Freeform, Other, Snippets, Theft, Violence, the robber - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-23 00:28:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17070050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLadyRebel/pseuds/TheLadyRebel
Summary: The Robber, Fillan McCarthy, makes a small mistake while trying to steal a coin purse from a Legionnaire.





	As Luck Would Have It

It had come like a whisper in the wind, draping the city in a frigid mist and beckoning those dreadful clouds to blanket the pale sky; the soft patter of the rain had dismissed most everyone from the bustling marketplace, leaving the square barren but for a handful of legionnaires whom, despite the chill, remained regretfully at their posts.  
On occasion, one might adjust his position. He may lower his rifle, arms sore from hours of stillness, and allow his focus to fade for just a second. The man’s tired lids would soon begin to droop, exhaustion ultimately overtaking him, and he would press his weight to the wall behind him, now in a light slumber.  
Fillan McCarthy, one of the more clumsy thieves in New York City, took this as his signal and made a careful approach toward the snoozing soldier. Worn shoes padded across the uneven cobblestones silently, skillfully, as the robber neared. In the depths of his mind, Fillan couldn't help but pray for his own success. It had been months since he had eaten a decent meal and it was starting to show, although subtly.  
Now, barely a few feet from his goal, the young robber took a deep breath to calm his nerves. He then closed the distance between himself and his target, exhaling all the while to relieve the stress of the situation. Trembling hands moved to the legionnaire’s belt, working cautiously to untie the heavy pouch that hung at the man’s hip, and within seconds the purse was free; however, Fillan’s victory was short-lived.  
As if by some cruel twist of fate, the pouch slid from Fillan’s grasp and crashed against the soaked pavement; its contents clinked and jingled, creating quite the racket. Coins and paper bills now littered the street beneath Fillan’s feet and he dropped to his knees, frantically gathering up all of the currency before he was noticed- it was all he could do to prevent panic from taking him, but his efforts were in vain as the soldier awoke with a start.  
The man armed himself in a practiced motion, bringing the butt of his rifle down upon Fillan’s skull with a crack; gaining a sharp, pained cry from the boy.  
“What the bloody ‘ell do you think you’re doin’?” The legionnaire shouted, raising his gun again as he prepared to strike the now dazed thief. A blow similar to the last would leave Fillan unconscious, no doubt.  
Groaning, the robber shoved what money he could into his pockets and rose, dodging the upcoming jab with surprising speed. His hand flew to his own weapon now, a three-pronged iron hook attached to a makeshift wooden handle, and he wasted no time in turning on his heel to swipe at the soldier in a dizzy fit. The tips of each hook caught the front of the legionnaire’s uniform, tearing the garment transversely.  
“Why you little,” With a furious snarl, the legionnaire took his rifle by the shaft as if it were a club and drew it back to swing at Fillan. With each and every missed stroke, the soldier’s rage grew. “Aw’right!” He growled, letting the improvised club clatter to the pavement, “you wanna play? We can play…”  
At that, the legionnaire knelt to unsheathe a thick Scottish dirk from one of his boots. Its blade gleamed in the dim light cast by the occasional darts of lightning that shot across the darkened sky.  
Fillan shook his soaked bangs from his face, eyes glinting, and dove forward with a snarl. He threw his arm forward with all the force he could muster and drug his rusty hook across the legionnaire’s midsection. The blades stuck, tearing the man’s stomach apart with a satisfying rip, and Fillan could hardly help but cringe.  
“You…” The legionnaire managed past a mouthful of his own bile and blood, “little…” But his words were short lived as he fell forward, a lifeless cadaver, and crashed against the damp cobblestones before him.  
With a relieved sigh, Fillan bent down to retrieve the excess coins that he’d not had the time to gather earlier and stowed them away safely into his jacket pocket.  
“All in a day’s work,” he muttered to himself, dragging a dirty sleeve across his cheek to wipe away the soldier’s blood. He groaned, staring down at the new stain in his clothing, and swore that he’d get them laundered some day. But for now, his only concern was finding his next meal.

**Author's Note:**

> This was something that I wrote in 2012. I figured, "why not share it?".


End file.
